Take My Hand
by DukeGirl2001
Summary: Red comes to a realization regarding his feelings for Liz and now he has to decide what to do…A Lizzington story of course! Update - chapter 2 is now up…comments appreciated!
1. Chapter 1

_This has been floating around in my head for a few days…I have an idea of where I want to go with it…thinking maybe 2-3 chapters in all. Thank you, thank you to the creator of the Take My Hand video. I love it so much. Hope you don't mind that I used it here too…Let me know what you think!_

_Set sometime in the future (obviously). Post Tom, post Tom fallout, etc._

Xxx

He stares out the window as the evening light falls on the buildings below, bronzing them before fading into the trees. The glass pane runs from ceiling to floor, the night chill seeping through the barrier and permeating the burgundy of the room.

He welcomes the cold, winter being his favorite season. The season where it's already gone.

His thoughts wander, the scotch in his hand loosening his mind. He sees a glimpse of her in Montreal. Her dress black and lace and…he stops. That was the beginning. The beginning of the acknowledgement anyway. The first time he let himself go, for just a minute, with her. Let himself pretend, indulge in his fantasies.

A move that had come back to haunt him.

The sound of a jazz ensemble drifts up from downstairs. Something slow and bluesy. The song unfamiliar, yet the notes…soothing.

He takes another drink.

A movement, a flash of blue, catches his eye and he turns. His gaze meets her own and his breath catches. Her hair down and lips red, she…

For a moment the past tangles with the present and there she stands, less than steady, her red dress plummeting and flowing. On his arm. The Syrians. The effigy. He slipped that night. The words bursting forth unchecked before he could stop them. Save himself. He worried she would suspect it then, but her past, dark and convoluted had clouded her profiling that evening and she had missed it…missed the break. His lips turn up, remembering.

He has to be careful now. The slip-ups come more frequently. His ability to check them becoming…unstructured. Undone. That's why it must end. Before he breaks completely.

Lets her in, through him, to them.

He forces himself to relax and he smiles at her across the empty space. Lifts his drink and beckons her forward. No words. She understands, his Lizzie.

The happiness in her eyes lifts his spirits just as surely as it ever does…and he feels a pang of regret, sharp and cold.

He didn't plan for it to happen. Didn't know that it could. Winter and all of that. But, despite the fight, it did.

He loves her.

And because of that.

He will leave her.

Somewhere below the music stops.

Xxx

She sees him looking at her, his smile bold and practiced. Red, she has come to understand, expresses emotion only with his eyes, most of the time anyway. His other facial features props in the games he plays.

Her eyes take him in - from the smooth leather shoes to the tailored vest and shirt - then stop at his face. On second consideration she sees that his eyes are tired, not infrequent for him, and sad. Her heart catches.

Her hands move to the front of her dress and suddenly she is conscious of how he must see her. Knowing this time that the dress is for him…no guise of work tonight. He invited her here. The invitation causing her heart to jump and plummet simultaneously. Somewhere deep down her subconscious had been waiting for this…night.

"Red," the words coming out on an exhale. Breathy and foreign to her own ears. He does this to her…these days.

"Lizzie," he holds his hand out to her. Welcoming. Almost.

Downstairs the music pauses and restarts, an upbeat number. The singer delves into the melody.

"You look…"he pauses. Seems to reach for the right word.

His eyes roam over her figure. Taking their time. The crimson precursor of a blush spreading across her face.

"Is it too much?" She interrupts his contemplation, her confidence disappearing and doubt creeping in. She looks down at the deep blue dress turning and melding around her, each dip and curve evident…it wasn't something that she would normally wear…but for him…

"…beautiful," he finishes.

Her blush takes hold and she finds herself smiling back at him.

Xxx

The music swirls and sways. Smokey. Late night bars in one light towns.

He sets his glass down and closes the distance between them. Reaches to take her right hand in his left. Carefully.

His thoughts ebb and flow and he finds himself in her living room standing in front of her couch. He surprised her that night, surprised himself. Exhaustion making him weary but he…had to see her, make sure that she was…well. 'Welcome back,' she had said, and he lost himself in her gaze. Letting himself pretend the concern in her eyes was something more. The reality and the desire blurring in the dark.

His breath stumbles but she doesn't pull away. Leans into him instead of out and he sees the questions in her eyes. His thoughts unraveling his actions.

"Dance with me."

She hesitates.

"Please."

Xxx

He pulls her against his chest. A little roughly. His movements erratic, less orchestrated than the usual. She feels him press against her, feels the delicate fabric of her dress compress.

Using his left he moves her right hand to his shoulder. To the bare skin of his neck. Frees her fingers, forcing her hand there. Touching him. She feels his other hand move around her back and tighten. Palm moving this way and that. Caressing the small of her back. The curve below. Slowly. Like he wants her there…like he _wants_ her. The thought immediate and true.

The music slows. A familiar note floats up and then the words. _Wise men say…_

If he notices he doesn't react.

But she does, sighs and moves into him. Lets him lead tonight, lets him have her. Their dancing small in the large room.

Xxx

Tbc…

**Anyone like? I have the next chapter about halfway done…let me know! **


	2. Chapter 2

He sighs, lets himself have this dance. _One_ dance. A last indulgence before…he reins the thought back in. He _has_ this moment. Has her in his arms.

The words rise up from below them, weaving around his thoughts,

…_take my hand, take my whole life too, 'cause I can't help…_

His arms bring her closer and they move about the room.

Xxx

The song comes to an end, the alto voice trailing off into the night. Red's precise movements unwind and they are no longer dancing, rather standing in the middle of the room, his arms around her. Strong. An embrace.

"Lizzie," he starts, the gravity of his voice hovering above her, teetering on longing. "I want you to know…"

The vibration of his chest against her midsection breaks her reverie and her gaze lifts to him, surprised to see his guard down. Surprised by the way he is looking at her, right now, alternating between searching her eyes and taking in every last detail of her…uneasiness begins to creep its way into her thoughts.

He takes a deep breath and continues.

"…there will never be a time when I am not…made aware…of your actions. Your whereabouts. Your movements. Your safety…and happiness…will always be of the utmost importance to me…"

She says nothing, the uneasiness surging into panic. Her emotions acting on their own volition.

"Do you understand? You will never have to fear. My people," he looks down at her, trying to memorize her face, her eyes, her hair, the way she looks at him in this moment, "my people will always be close by. Nothing, _nothing_, is going to happen to you."

She hears the words but fails to understand. Will not let herself understand.

"Red. What? Are you leaving?" The question automatic.

He nods. Somber and quick.

"For how long?" The three weeks after Anslo were torture. She's grateful that he hasn't disappeared like that again. She shivers at the memory.

He just looks at her, doesn't answer her question, but she can see it. Can see the answer in his eyes, and the pain, searing and hot, cuts through her.

The tears roll freely now. She doesn't lift a hand to stop them as they roll down her face.

"Is this…what?" Her words barely held together. "Goodbye?"

A glimmer of sadness overtakes his stoic countenance. Gone before it landed.

"Yes Lizzie." She can't read him. "The time has come."

The bottom drops out. Panic and nausea. She can't lose someone else. Not after everything else. Everyone else.

"I don't understand. Why? We're almost done." By her count there were less than a handful of names left on the list.

He says nothing, shakes his head. His gaze still locked on her. Gauging her reaction.

"Is it because of me, because of the deal with the FBI?" Her eyes pleading.

He grimaces internally, his Lizzie, always placing the blame on herself. Even in situation where she has, where she had, no control.

"Yes." The word final.

She grasps at straws. Knows that the attempts are futile, but she has to do something. Some action. "I know I may have been too harsh…"

"No. No. Anything you could say, could imagine, I deserved." A sardonic smile plays on his lips. A memory, she guesses. He shakes his head, looking down briefly and then raising his head back up. Seems to square himself to her. Suddenly serious. Their words, their movements, the only sounds in the room. The lights low now. The party ended.

"I love you," the aching sincerity in his voice at contrast with the simple words. Adrenaline, sharp and electric, charges through his body as the words escape, no longer his secret. To himself. To her.

"What?" Her face bewildered, the tears still falling, but slower now.

"I love you." The adrenaline settles and his limbs feel heavy.

"Red, you _care_ about me." The inflection at the end of the sentence rising before settling down. She has never questioned his concern for her. "You _need_ me." She visibly relaxes. A logical explanation for this, for this…inexplicable turn of events. His admission.

"No Lizzie." He pauses, the hands on her shoulders forcing her to look at him. "I _love_ you," the sadness in his eyes now edged by something else, an apology? "The way…the way a man loves a women. In ways an man like me has no _right_ to…"

She cuts him off abruptly, "I don't understand, " it's too much. This information. It's pushing and crashing and forcing itself in...something inside of her swelling and burning. The part she diligently protects. Hides. Light seeping in.

"Neither do I," his words the truth. "But I do…" the ghost of a smile flitting across his lips, "God knows I do."

The look he gives her holds so much tenderness she's afraid she'll break. Just shatter right there on the floor. Millions of shards scattered about on the carpet.

"And they can see it." His words are careful, final.

"Who?" It's all she can muster. Her words lost.

"All of them." His arm leaves her shoulder and sweeps through the air. "Anslo. Tom. Anyone who," his words stumble a bit, "knew me before…"the words coming out in a rush, "before you."

He waits, letting it sink in. Smiles at her, the expression real now, reaching his eyes. For all the loss of the future, having this time, letting her know, the moment is golden.

"I am a wanted man Lizzie. By so many I've stopped keeping count. I can fend for myself. Fight, run, disappear. But someday all of this," he gestures to himself, the room, "will catch up with me. I am resigned to that. It's…inevitable. But I can't have them get to you. Take you, hurt you in any way, to get to me. I…I care about you, love you, too much for that." His voice quiets and stills. His whisper raw.

"But I…" she stammers, not sure what to say.

He backs away. Reaches a point several paces away before continuing. His tone softer now, less conflicted.

"You must know that I didn't intend for this to happen. Never imagined that it would, that it could. You might say it snuck up on me…a little bit at a time." He looks at her, his thoughts faraway and present, remembering. "Some days faster than others, but a little bit, every single day. Until it was…too late to recover. I didn't want to recover. Loving you has been…" he pauses searching for the right word, "magical."

"Has been? What…? But I…" She stammers.

Through her tears she can see him struggle with himself. The part that needs her seems to win and she feels his arms envelop her again. She inhales the scent of him. Leather, and wood, and something…reckless.

"Shh, Lizzie. Shh…" the hand behind her back running up and down her spine. Comforting. Reaching.

"I am an old man Lizzie. You thought I was your father after all." He pulls back a bit and she sees him smile, reassuring her before continuing. "A man with dreams," a smirk, apologetic, "fantasies even. But as real as my feelings are…and they _are_ that" he inhales, "that's all they can be. Or they will hurt you. Ruin you."

"Red, no." It all makes sense. All the pieces. All the moments, the glances, the late night calls. And she realizes that it was there, had been there, for a long time. And now he was leaving. No, her heart lurches, she couldn't accept that.

When she looks up she sees that his eyes are wet. A single tear lets go and falls down his smooth cheek. She reaches up to brush it away. Leaves her hand on his face. Her palm warm on his cool skin.

He feels her skin on his and…he's coming apart. He shouldn't have touched her again. Held her. And now she's touching him. Her eyes so kind.

He moves his hand over hers, covering her fingers that touch his face, inhales, and then pulls her hand away.

His breath catching when she turns his hand over and brings it to her lips.

"No." She says again. The singular word threatening to break him. This moment having played out in his fantasies. In his wants and desires and dreams of things that cannot be. Lizzie approaching him. That he would _matter_ to her.

She turns his hand over. He doesn't struggle. Unable to move. And presses her lips to his palm.

"No." She repeats herself. The tears having stopped and the look on her face changing from sadness into something…powerful.

Then, using the hand behind his neck she pulls him forward, down to her. And she presses her lips to his. Sweetly, softly, all of the words left unsaid.

"It's not just you," she says.

Xxx

And he breaks. The contact. The blurring of lines. Too much.

Taking her hand he pulls her down the hall, into the elevator. Through a door. Into a darkened room.

He kicks the door closed with his foot. The sounds from the hallway stopping abruptly. His eyes adjusting to the darkness of the suite.

Looks down into her eyes and puts his hands on each side of her face. Caresses her cheeks, the back of her neck. She is so beautiful.

Lets go and leans down, presses his lips, his mouth, his everything to hers. Indulgent. Lost.

His hands still on her face and he backs her up with his body. One foot in front of the other. Stops when they reach the far wall. Closes any distance between them and deepens the kiss. Places one hand on each side of her, the grass-cloth wallpaper rough under his palms, and…he is coming unglued. Won't be able to stop this soon.

She moans. The sound coming from her mouth of its own volition. And that's all it takes. His restraint in shambles.

Gathering her in his arms he carries her to the bed. Drops her down, limbs sprawled, and stands up to see her. Take her in. Her dress, her lips...

And, dear lord, he's going to let himself have this night…is going to let it all burn down before it goes black…and lowers himself to her.

Xxx

**One more chapter? What do you think? Comments very much appreciated :)**


	3. Chapter 3

An elegant bedroom chandelier hangs down casting spiderwebs on the ceiling and the headboard of the bed is rich and leather. She runs her hands up and down the smooth cover below her and feels the crispness of the sheets. The light from the window casts him in shadow above her. The room full of silent anticipation.

She's in Raymond Reddington's bed. Raymond Reddington's _bed_. In Raymond Reddington's suite. Her heart beating a steady rhythm. His gaze heavy on her, burning with intensity.

Her arms languish, splayed to her sides, her hair a wild mess from the damage he did in the elevator. Her dress hitched way too high and fallen way too low, twisted around her waist…she waits for the panic, the doubt to creep in, but it doesn't. She wants to be here, with him, like this. Her desire to be here…so strong…the moment she acknowledged it.

She reaches with her eyes to meet his gaze. Feels it burn into her skin. His pupils are dilated and the look he gives her radiates lust. Pure unchecked desire. He's not in control. Way past control.

She's never seen this side of him, the side acting on emotion not reason. Not aware of his actions. Never seen him undone, let go. Seeing him look at her like this…the feeling is powerful. She did this to him, is doing this to him. She slides her tongue across her lip.

He reaches down and his finger traces the side of her face, her cheek, her mouth, the delicate skin below her ear. Runs down the veins of her neck. Lower. Slowly. Reverently. His breathing heavy in the quiet room.

The feelings filling her now warm and explosive, this trance she's in. He moves his free hand to her hip, caressing, the fabric of her dress unable to prevent the heat of his touch from reaching her skin. His skin.

Moves his hand up…the graceful hollow of her hip, the curves, down her arm. Hasn't touched anything intimate, yet the feeling loving, sensual. She moves under him, inches her hands to the top of her dress, but he holds her wrists and moves them away. Back to her sides.

She sighs heavily. This bliss. This dark abyss. Powerless to stop it once it began.

Xxx

He lowers himself to her. Runs his hand up and down her side. Feeling the curves and turns of her body. Curves and turns he's long been wanting to touch. Feel against his hands, savor her. Takes his time. Lets his eyes wander over her, study her, as he moves his hands this way and that. Runs his palm down the back of her thigh. Pulls it up and over him. Lowers his lips to hers again. Heat radiates from her skin and her dress is crushed, warm.

She shivers. The movement pulling him closer. Losing himself further. Moving without reason now. Acting without thought. Closer to her, closer.

She moves under him. Reaches for him with her body. Strains upward. Love, lust, and the white emotion in between welling up in his chest. Making his heart jump in ways he has only imagined in his mind. The reality so much better. Stronger.

And he is lost here with her. Powerless to stop the things he has started. With her. He grabs a handful of fabric, elegant and smooth, wraps it around his hand, tests it momentarily, and then pulls straight back. The seams pop and her dress falls to the foot of the bed.

The air between them heated now. Electric.

He sees the delicate lace, red even in the dim light, covering her, just barely. It's_ red_, his gaze finds hers in the dark…the truth he sees in her eyes. The words. The thoughts. So clear.

His heart clenches.

She loves him. He can see it, she's not trying to hide it, she _loves_ him.

He sees her stop, focusing on his face. Her mouth working on the words, working over them…

"Shh," he says, running his hand down her body. "I know. I already know."

The tears well in the corner of her eyes and he falls toward her again.

Outside the window the thin night clouds pass in front of the moon and extinguish the light in the room as the hours bleed into the morning.

Xxx

The sun has not yet arrived, the moon still high in the sky. A chill permeates the room and the click of the thermostat precedes the sound of warm air blowing through the vents. The clock reads 4am.

Red maneuvers across the bed, trying his best to distribute his weight evenly, not cause the mattress to dip or move. She's sleeping, her arm curled under her pillow. His Lizzie. She is _his_ now. The proprietary thoughts having gained momentum in the last hours.

The moonlight coming through the break in the curtains illuminates her face. Her hair sprawls dark and tangled over the pristine cotton pillowcase. The corners of her mouth turn up in the hint of a smile, her lips red and swollen. She looks thoroughly and exhaustedly used…loved. The warm heat of possession spreads out from his chest. He did those things to her. With her.

She loves him. The thought filling him and threatening to spill over. Ignoring the tendrils of regret wafting through his thoughts, he leans over and softly kisses her temple. Her skin cool now. Soft. His scent on her, the ache. He straightens and stands. Eyes still on her.

The clock reads 4:15am.

He looks down at her, his thoughts bittersweet. Last night was worth any potential, anything. Her breathing full and soft.

He hasn't lost himself with a woman in over twenty years. Hasn't been able to let go. The drugs, the alcohol, the debauchery, never enough to crowd out his thoughts. His physical needs met, but the emotional ones…not loved a woman in so long.

Moving to the far side of the room he retrieves his shirt, his pants, his hat. Dressing quietly he reaches down to tie his shoes. Unroll the sleeves of his shirt.

Taking one last look at her sleeping form he turns and opens the door. Steps out of the dark room and into the night sounds.

Pulling his phone from his pocket he dials quickly then holds the phone to his ear. "Dembe…" The conversation moving out into the night air.

The first traces of day evident on the horizon below.

Xxx

She wakes to the golden morning light spilling into the room through the break in the brocade curtains. Her thoughts still waking, she sighs contentedly, the events of the night before replaying themselves in her mind. Wraps herself more deeply into the tangled cotton sheets. Her body feels liquid and spent.

Rolling over she looks through the other side of the bed where he should be, but there is no one there. No one sleeping. The imprint of his body still heavy on the sheets. He's gone.

Panic wells up inside her, filling each space and chasm. Her heart beating faster and adrenaline flowing out through her limbs. She doesn't move, just lets the cold wash over her, the hot precursor of tears pricking the backs of her eyes.

She loves him. So clearly now. She loves him. And her heart aches. The tears fall freely, tracing her face, running down and hitting the cotton below. The minutes run together and pass.

Blindly she reaches her arm out to where he was, where he should be, feeling only the soft chill of the sheets. The roughness of the comforter. Running her hand under his pillow her fingers bump into an angular object. She tugs it out into the light, absently, for further inspection.

Opening her hand she sees a hinged felt box. Raising herself to the sitting position she reaches for the box and unlatches the velvet top with a muffled click. Her breath catches on the exhale.

Inside the box lies the most beautiful ring she has ever seen. The diamond large but shallow, a polished skipping stone, the only color coming from the reflection of the soft brown fabric of the box. A thin yellow gold band circles the diamond, slightly squaring off at the edges.

She doesn't understand. Confusion scattering her thoughts her eyes scan the room.

Xxx

Out of the corner of her eye she sees the thin curtains hanging across the French doors flutter. The breeze wafting in and moving the air in the room. Touches of cool in the warm.

And then she sees him. Or the back of him rather. White shirt pristine, dark vest and pants, shoes. And she runs.

Xxx

He takes in her tear streaked face and his gaze softens. "It wasn't supposed to make you cry, sweetheart." He smiles at her, his eyes unsure.

"Where did this come from, Red?" She holds the box out in front of her, her facial expression wobbling between a heartfelt smile and further tears.

He exhales slowly, seems to ponder the question, and then sits down on one of the slatted wood chairs in the middle of the balcony. Grabs the fabric of his trousers at the knee and hitches his pant leg up at the ankle. He's been up awhile, the paper read and discarded on the table beside him.

He looks at her, pauses, and begins.

"I saw it," he gestures towards the box in her hand, "in a shop window in Paris. It was late in the evening, the stores were closed, no one else on the sidewalk. I remember the way the air felt, cool and wet on my face, and the way the night smelled. Full of spring and…_life_." He looks at her seriously then. Earnestly.

She interrupts him, "When was this?"

"Before I came back."

"Before I you came back from Belarus?" She hadn't noticed a change when she saw him in the Post Office war room last Thursday. He looked tired from his trip, haggard almost, complained about headwinds and departure times…but nothing was amiss, nothing different.

"No…after Anslo." Her heart jolts.

He continues as if the answer means nothing…doesn't give him away as thinking these things since…the gravity of the statement forces her down in the chair next to his. He reaches out, snakes his arm around the back of her shoulders, and begins to massage the vertebra of her neck with his thumbs as he speaks. Little circles, smaller circles, her breathing quickens.

"Anyway, in a sea of dark windows, a little light was on. A little light shining down on the most ostentatious _dog collar_ of a necklace I'd ever seen." He pauses, humor and love lighting his smile. "And next to it, the most perfect little diamond ring."

"It made me think of you. That was my first thought. Didn't question it, didn't analyze it, just let the thought roll around in my head for the remainder of the evening. The night. It wouldn't leave me alone."

"And the next day I went back, walked the same street I had before, and located the little shop. The little jewelry store. Spoke with the proprietor, easily the kindest shop keeper I have encounter in the fair city, and bought the ring. Put it in my overcoat pocket and went on my way."

"And it went with me to my meetings that day. Sat through an exchange with an old associate so heated I wasn't sure if either of us, the ring or myself, would make it out alive. But we did."

"And then we sat together at dinner, the ring and I. Just the two of us at a cozy table by the window in a crowded café. It warmed me, that ring. I would open the box, see it, and think of you. It looked like you, like something you would like. Not something someone would like on you."

"And then we came back. Here, to the Post Office, to the list, and Dembe took the ring to a safe and deposit box, along with some priceless bobbles procured in another transaction, and there it sat."

"And I would think of it from time to time, sitting in the dark, in a box and I thought that maybe it was me the ring was for, not you. We shared so much in common after all. Both alone. Both isolated."

He takes a deep breath. She sees him waver. A moment of uncertainty. The emotion foreign on his face.

"And then came last night. And Lizzie," his voice slow now, the hand on her back moving to run up her arm, caress her cheek. His touch as intimate as the low hovering of his voice in her ear. "Lizzie I never expected you. Dreamed and hoped and fought with reason. But never expected. Not this…" Everything implied. Unsaid.

The pause silent except for the chirping of the birds. The wind moving through the balustrade. He's still here. Still here with her.

"And so last night, Dembe retraced his steps. Key in his possession. And retrieved this box", he gestures to the velvet box containing the ring, "from my box." Another pause. "And now you have it."

He looks at her. Waits for her response.

"That was a long story Red," her voice wobbling and round.

"That it was Lizzie," his smile real and the sparkle in his eye contagious, "but you asked where it came from."

"True. But what does it mean?"

"It can mean whatever you want it to Lizzie, whatever you choose."

His gaze pierces hers and she feels like he wants to say more but doesn't. Unsure of the implied meaning.

He stands and walks back to the railing. Looks down on the street below.

She walks slowly towards him, wraps her arms around him from behind, kisses his cheek and then lays hers on his. "I want you to stay…with me. I want to be with you. No more riddles. No more fear…that you might go. I want you to be with me."

For awhile he says nothing. Continuing to stare at the passing cars.

"Marry me Lizzie." His words barely a whisper.

His heart bracing.

She pulls away. Looks at him but his face gives nothing away. She lays her cheek back on his back.

"I'll be damned if it makes any sense, I have no _right _to ask, but please, after all of this, consider it. You're only safe if I'm far away or right beside you, and God knows if I'm with you…I can't not be _with_ you. Not after last night. Not after this…" he gestures to her.

"Marry me. Come away with me. Be with me." His voice stronger now. His worried look softens. Turning towards her he adds. "How's that for direct? Nothing to decode there."

"Yes," she says, joy filling her face. "Yes."

And he is done. Pulls her against him and let's the morning light overtake them both. The sun full and round.

Xxx

**So, I changed things up to give this story a happy ending…did it work? To fluffy? Comments always appreciated!**


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